


truce, n. friendship

by pterawaters



Category: Glee
Genre: Burt Hummel is the Best Dad Ever, Child Abuse, Co-workers, Friendship, M/M, Mentors, Puckurt Big Bang, Puckurt Big Bang 2013, Slow Build, Vandalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterawaters/pseuds/pterawaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The summer after freshman year of high school, Kurt's father caught one of Kurt's classmates vandalizing the tire shop. Instead of turning him over to the police, Burt decided what Noah Puckerman really needed was a mentor and a job, Kurt's increasing jealousy notwithstanding. Except, as the summer wore on, Kurt began to see an actual person under the hoodlum who painted "Homo Hummel" on the tire shop wall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	truce, n. friendship

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to everyone involved in this fic. [The amazing art](http://imgur.com/a/eVcpu#0) was done by [water_singer](http://water_singer.livejournal.com/). The body of the fic was expertly beta read by [Greenglowsgold](http://greenglowsgold.tumblr.com/). The title would be much different and much less awesome without the one-of-a-kind [Ravingliberal](http://ravingliberal.tumblr.com/). Thanks again, everyone!

Kurt finds the graffiti on a Wednesday morning, because Wednesdays are the days he lets his dad sleep in and opens up the shop, at least now that it's finally summer. Kurt's freshman year of high school was a study in slow, soul-numbing torture, but for the next three months, he gets to work in his dad's shop and make money for all the wardrobe pieces he bids for online. It's supposed to be a vacation away from school and mean kids and everything, but the graffiti scrawled across the right-hand garage door says, "Homo Hummel," in bright red, foot-tall letters.

Kurt calls his dad, who calls the police. The police officer (a big guy with a salt-and-pepper mustache) is attentive and helpful until Kurt speaks. Kurt is familiar with the surprised look that flits across people's faces when they hear his voice for the first time. It never stops hurting, though. When Officer Daniels sees what the vandal has written, he shuts down even further, looking almost bored as he tells Kurt's dad that there's nothing to be done.

Kurt helps his father paint over the graffiti. Two coats later, they decide the white isn't working and Kurt makes the executive decision to change the doors to a nice, primary blue instead of white. 

The vandal comes back with yellow spray paint. The bright contrast of colors in the morning sun reminds Kurt of a children's book or a sports team's uniform colors. This time one coat of blue covers up the words and Kurt tells himself it's the paint fumes making his eyes water. 

The next time the vandal stops by, Burt is working late and Kurt is passed out on the office couch to the tinny sound of David Letterman on the ancient rabbit-eared set in the corner, waiting for his father to he ready to go home. He wakes up to a loud bang against the garage doors and his father crying, "Ah ha! Gotcha, ya little punk!"

Kurt runs out the open side door and finds his father triumphant in the streetlight, holding a teenage boy against the garage door by means of forearm to windpipe. Kurt's stomach sinks when he realizes he knows the boy from school. The mop of dark curls on his head is fairly distinctive. It's Noah Puckerman, one of the popular boys and one of Kurt's more frequent, if casual, bullies. The most Kurt knows about Puckerman is that he's Finn Hudson's best friend and that he prefers being the one holding under Kurt's arms when the jocks get it into their heads to toss Kurt into the dumpster.

Noticing Kurt standing there, watching, Burt says, "Go call the cops, Kurt! Tell 'em I got the guy!"

In a strangled voice, Puckerman cries out, "Yeah, go ahead and call the cops! See if I care!" His voice cracks and an unbidden jolt of empathy cuts at Kurt's heart. Kurt savagely holds his breath against it until it fades under rage.

Puckerman's response seems to startle Burt, because he gives Kurt the signal to hold off for a moment and loosens his hold. Burt stares at Puckerman for a long few seconds before asking, "What's your name, son?"

"Henry the Eighth," he replies with a shit-eating grin.

Burt frowns and sticks a finger in Puckerman's face in that warning way he does. Before Burt can go off, Kurt speaks up. "His name is Noah Puckerman. He goes to my school."

Puckerman gives Kurt a betrayed look, at which Kurt scoffs. He doesn't owe this boy anything after all the crap that Puckerman and his buddies have put Kurt through.

"Puckerman, huh? You know, one of my customers is a Puckerman. I've got her phone number right in my computer inside. What do you want to bet it's your mother's number?"

Rolling his eyes, Puck says, "Go ahead and call her, dude. She won't care."

Kurt knows what his dad's next expression means, because he's pretty sure he's feeling it as well – reluctant sympathy. It's clear from his spitting tone that Puckerman doesn't think his mother would answer a phone call at this time of night, or that even if she did, she'd bother helping her teenaged son out of trouble. Kurt can honestly say he has no idea what having a parent like that would be like, but he can't imagine it being very nice.

After a long sigh, Burt keeps his eyes on Puckerman, but lets go of him and tells Kurt, "Go inside and get a clean plastic bag."

Kurt hesitates for just a second before doing as he's asked. On his way inside, he hears Burt say, "So, this is the way it's gonna be..." When Kurt gets back, Burt's still talking. "... until you pay off the damages. You do good work and stay out of trouble, I might keep you around and start paying you, okay, kid?"

There's a deep frown on Puck's face and he asks, "What's the bag for?" He nods in Kurt's direction.

Burt meets Kurt's eyes and then flicks his gaze down to Puckerman's discarded spray paint can. Understanding all of a sudden, Kurt explains, "Leverage," as he uses the bag to pick up the spray can without touching it. "This can has your fingerprints on it, Noah. If we give it to the police, you'll be in lots of trouble."

Kurt sees the way the muscle in Puckerman's jaw clenches, like he's gearing up for a fight, like he's getting desperate. Desperate people frighten Kurt and he has to fight the urge to step back, to allow Puckerman to intimidate him. Not when Kurt's dad is a wall of muscle between them.

Burt says something in a low voice and Kurt can't quite make out what he's saying. Whatever it is, it makes Puckerman slump and start nodding his head. As Burt lets him go, Puckerman doesn't get his attitude back. He doesn't lunge at Kurt to try and grab the paint can. He mumbles something about the morning and slinks away, tail practically between his legs.

Once Puckerman is out of earshot and almost out of sight, Kurt asks, "What did you say to him?"

Burt sighs and claps one hand on Kurt's shoulder. "Don't worry about it, son."

In the morning, which comes far too early for Kurt, since it had been late before they'd arrived home and it had taken even longer before he'd fallen asleep, Kurt rides to the shop with his father. When they pull up, Puckerman is slumped against the door, ass on the pavement. When Burt slams his car door shut, the boy startles and it's only then that Kurt realizes he was sleeping right there on the ground like a homeless person.

Kurt wonders if Puckerman is actually homeless, despite how impossible that seems for a guy on the upper rung of the high school ladder.

"Mornin'," Burt greets Puckerman with that gruff, pseudo-cheer that Kurt knows too well. Burt thinks it makes him sound like he's being light-hearted, but Kurt has lived with him since Kurt's mother died seven years ago. He knows better.

Puckerman nods, but he doesn't speak and he ignores Kurt's presence entirely, following Burt into the shop without even holding the door open behind him. Kurt scowls and catches the door at the last moment, just barely avoiding getting his fingers caught.

Kurt goes directly to work checking for any messages they might have received overnight and Burt gives Puckerman a broom and tells him to get to work. After five minutes of paperwork, Kurt realizes it's too quiet, so he turns on the radio; the dial's already set to the classic-pop radio station he and his father have compromised on since Kurt started defining his own identity through music. Puckerman looks up from where he's brushing loose rust and iron filings and screws into the dustpan, meeting Kurt's eyes and scowling at him.

Kurt scowls right back.

Burt makes a big show of going out to paint over Puckerman's latest masterpiece.

Puckerman doesn't say anything the entire day, even when Burt tells him to get lost at the end of it.

As he turns out the shop lights, Burt asks Kurt, "Did Puckerman eat lunch when I told him to?"

Kurt was trying to ignore Puckerman as much as possible without physically tripping over him, so he has to think back over the lunch hour to remember what he saw. Eventually he shakes his head. "I don't think so. Maybe he didn't know he should go get something, since he didn't bring a lunch?"

The next day, Burt brings in two dozen doughnuts and an entire crock full of grocery deli chili. Puckerman eats nine doughnuts and four bowls of chili over the course of the day, looking around furtively each time like he's getting away with something.

That little ache of burdensome empathy makes a home at the back of Kurt's throat.

A week after Puckerman started coming in, he's done a week's worth of sweeping up and a week's worth of re-stacking tires and helping Burt loosen lug nuts. An entire week, and Puckerman finally chooses to address Kurt directly. Burt has gone on a parts run to the distributer in Dayton, not wanting to pay the money for an overnight delivery service when he could finish the repairs today, if he just had the part. Kurt and Puckerman are alone in the shop, aside from Mrs. Jones, who's waiting for Kurt to finish changing the oil on her Lexus. 

Kurt waits for the oil to drain and lovingly caresses the opal finish on the SUV, liking the way it sparkles iridescent in the late morning sun still streaming in through the open garage door. Behind Kurt, where he's sorting screws by size and type, Puckerman scoffs, "Gay much?"

"No!" Kurt responds reflexively. "I just like the color. Just because _you_ have the taste of a colorblind lumberjack, doesn't mean the rest of us have to live like heathens."

Kurt admits that maybe he overreacted, especially when Puckerman stands up (when the hell had he gotten so tall?) and Kurt realizes his father isn't there to protect him. Kurt does know the basics of self-defence, but he's never seen the point of using it when it's always a group of eight or ten jocks that pick him up and toss him in the dumpster. He's never used it and he's not sure he even can, now that he might have to.

Stepping close enough that he has to look down to meet Kurt's eyes, Puckerman spits, "Some of us _like_ living like heathens. Badasses don't jizz their shorts over sparkly paint and ball-crushingly tight pants."

The crude language and Puckerman's breath-in-Kurt's-face proximity make Kurt's cheeks heat up almost instantly, but Kurt refuses to concede his ground. This is his father's shop. It's going to be Kurt's one day (even if he hasn't worked up the nerve yet to tell his father he'll be in some far off city becoming a fabulous, famous millionaire). Puckerman's only here because Burt has some insane theory that he can reform this juvenile delinquent by giving him a purpose. Kurt would rather Puckerman showed himself irredeemable now, even if it means taking a punch. There's two months left of summer and Kurt doesn't want to spend the whole time waiting for the other fist to drop.

"Do it!"

The words come out more breathless than Kurt had intended, but in any case, Puckerman jerks backward. He tightens down on the shock that blossoms over his face almost instantly, turning it into an angry frown, but Kurt knows the truth. Kurt has _gotten_ to him. He's surprised the biggest asshole at McKinley and made him back down, just by calling his bluff.

Puckerman feints in Kurt's direction, but he doesn't make contact, instead stalking toward the back of the shop with a throaty scoff.

Kurt gathers his composure, holding a hand to his chest to feel the way his heart takes minutes to slow back to a normal pace. In the back of the shop, he can hear Puckerman moving boxes around, like he's unstacking them and staking them back up again, just to have something physical to do.

When Burt gets back and asks Kurt how everything went, Kurt gives him a smile and says, "Fine!"

Kurt doesn't have any friends at school. Not really. He has a few girls that he'll speak to in class, but he doesn't have anyone's phone number and he doesn't have any friends to spend time with during the summer. If Burt has noticed this fact, he hasn't mentioned it. When Kurt goes over the number of hours he's allowed by law to work in the shop, he doesn't usually go home. He curls up on the couch in the office with his laptop and he reads about all the things he wishes he could be and do. He makes plans and remakes them. He researches fashion and music and (when no one's watching) being gay. He dreams.

If Puckerman is homeless (Kurt is fairly sure he isn't; he just doesn't spend much time at home), he's homeless with a cell phone that beeps and buzzes regularly throughout the day. Usually it's texts that Puckerman replies to quickly before going back to work, but sometimes they're phone calls. More than once, Kurt has heard Puckerman pick up and say, "Not now. I'm at work … yeah, _cleaning pools_."

For some reason, Puckerman always gives the phrase "cleaning pools" a lecherous sneer and chuckle. Kurt doesn't want to know what the phrase is a euphemism for (he absolutely wants to know), but he knows that Puck's not doing it. He spends forty hours a week at the shop, even after Burt calls Puckerman into his office and has a talk with him about his debt being paid in full. Kurt isn't privy to the conversation, but later Burt tells him that Puck will be working full time, making minimum wage.

Kurt gets a dollar-fifty per hour more than minimum wage, so technically the arrangement should be fair, given Kurt's years of experience watching and then working. Instead, he feels cheated out of his summer. Puckerman is just always _there_. He talks to Burt sometimes, trivial things about sports and less trivial conversations about cars and how they work.

Puckerman never speaks to Kurt unless it's absolutely necessary. Like, "Watch out," for that loose tire rolling through the shop, necessary.

Kurt tries not to think about how he's never heard Puckerman get a phone call from his mother.

Kurt tries not to notice how big Puckerman's arms are now that he's spent six weeks moving tires around the shop. Kurt tries not to wonder why his own arms are still boyish and undefined, even though he's done his fair share of lifting, too. Kurt tries not to be jealous.

At least he doesn't have to see Puckerman's friends dropping by the shop to harass him the way Lena Jensen's friends are always hanging around the shake and ice cream stand she runs for her grandmother. Kurt's fairly sure that Puck doesn't want anyone to know he's breathing the same air as the kid everyone knows is a "homo," despite the fact that Kurt has never officially come out.

Kurt's not in denial. He's not. He knows he's gay. He just doesn't want to tell anyone. Telling will make it inexorably, undeniably true. Can't a boy just get through high school without giving himself a label that isn't so easy to revoke as "jock" or "emo" or "stoner." Kids can grow up into adults and say, "I used to be a jock," "I used to be a stoner." Kurt knows that anyone who grows up and says, "I used to be gay," is kidding themselves. He's done a lot of research about sexuality in his down time between school work and not having any friends. He knows that human sexuality is complicated and fluid and all that. But who in the world would label themselves as gay, would take that risk in a town like Lima, and then try to _take it back_? Better not to go there at all until you were absolutely, positively, 100% sure.

Kurt figures once he's at college in some far away, liberal city, he can have a storybook romance and get his first boyfriend and then he'll accept a label. His mother had always cautioned him about putting the cart before the horse. Of course, she'd been talking about things like baking or Kurt's ballet recital costume, not putting his identity on hold, but Kurt hopes she would have understood, if she'd still been alive.

One Thursday, at the end of July, a god visits Hummel Tire and Lube. Okay, maybe he's not a god, but he's the most attractive man Kurt Hummel has ever seen in person. The man's hair is dark and just the right side of flowing, his eyebrows are decisively black, and his eyes are the most piercing blue. His chin has this cleft in the center that's deeper and much more attractive than Kurt's and Kurt thinks feverishly that he might have the urge to lick it. The man is in his early thirties, which is far too old for Kurt, but that doesn't stop Kurt's heart from trying to explode from his chest when the man walks right up to the service counter, winks at Kurt, and throws his keys onto the desk between them. 

"Something's wrong with the old girl!" he says in a booming voice, pointing back out the door to the parking lot, like Kurt would think he was referring to some other girl than a broken-down car.

"Uh," Kurt says, taking the keys into his hand and relishing the warmth left on them from the stranger's skin. He should not be thinking things like this. "Um, what kind of 'old girl' are we talking about here? I mean, make? Model?"

“My baby, my poor Beemer,” the man said, and even Kurt could say that his demeanor was a little over the top. “She quit on me two blocks away from here. And here I thought it was silly of me to take the scenic route through the downtown of this quaint little city, but now I’m glad I did. Could you imagine what would have happened if I’d broken down in the middle of _nowhere_?”

Suddenly Kurt recognizes the man. “You’re from that commercial!” He can’t help it, he squeals a little in fanboy glee.

“That I am!” the man replies proudly.

“That’s my favorite commercial!” Kurt admits, jumping out of his chair and going around the desk, trying to judge in his excited haze how close was too close to stand before a minor celebrity who’d found his way into your father’s shop.

“I’m sure it is!” The man reminds Kurt of a Disney prince and he plays out a little fantasy in his head where the stranger starts singing to Kurt about how he’s going to take him away from this place and back home to Hollywood, where all Kurt’s dreams will come true. Instead, the man points back outside and asks, “So, my car? Your shop does have a tow truck, doesn’t it?”

Nodding fervently, Kurt breathes, “Let me go get my dad,” and hurries back through the shop to where Burt is working on Mrs. Henderson’s green Ford (which as opposed to her red Ford, was a perfectly agreeable and not at all temperamental car). “Dad, dad, dad, dad, dad!”

Rolling out from under the car, Burt smirked up at Kurt and asked, “What’s up? Did you win one of your silly eBay auctions?”

Kurt could have argued that winning certain couture items for a fraction of their value wasn't silly, thank you very much, but he was too occupied with being starstruck to bother. “There is an honest-to-God celebrity in our shop right now. He needs a tow!”

“If it’s that Rod Remington asshole, I refuse,” Burt says, but he stands up and wipes his hands off on the rag sticking out of his back pocket in any case. “Do you know what that joker said last night during the eleven o’clock news?”

“I really don’t,” Kurt says in offhand dismissal. He grabs Burt by the shoulders and directs him toward the front of the shop. “It’s the guy from that loan commercial. You know, the one with the singing?”

"Uh, yeah, sure." Burt sounds like he's agreeing just for the sake of agreeing, not because he remembers the commercial Kurt's talking about. They get up to the front desk and Burt offers his hand.

Kurt wishes he'd done some serious Google-Fu and found out this man's name before he showed up in their tire shop in The Middle of Nowhere, Ohio.

"Hey, there. Burt Hummel. Where's this car you need towed?"

Burt and the actor head outside and Kurt starts to follow until Burt waves him back toward the front desk. Kurt sighs, but he does it. It's not like Puckerman can answer the phones _and_ finish changing that tire on the Caravan that's up on the lift. Kurt would be able to multitask, but Puckerman barely speaks as it is. He'd probably curse at the caller and hang up on them.

Kurt slumps into his chair and props his chin on one hand, counting the minutes until his dad and the dreamboat get back.

"Dude," Puckerman's voice breaks into Kurt's thoughts and it takes Kurt a moment to realize Puckerman is addressing him directly. "You really are, like, legit gay, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not," Kurt replies automatically, sneering at Puckerman despite the way the expression is bound to give him lines in all the wrong places if he uses it too often.

"Please." Puckerman fits a lugnut and uses the power wrench to secure it, waiting until the noise dies down before he speaks again. "I can see your boner for him from here."

Without meaning to, Kurt looks down at his lap, and then flushes when he realizes what Puck just made him do. It's not true of course. Kurt may be a fifteen year old boy, but it takes more than a celebrity sighting to get him going, even if it's a celebrity he has an Everest-sized crush on. Kurt starts to scowl before he remembers not to. "Why would you even be looking?"

"Maybe because you practically threw a damn parade when that guy walked in here. What, does he cure cancer with his bowel movements, or something?"

Kurt isn't quite sure what to say to that, but he's so irrationally pissed that he ends up out of his chair and halfway across the distance between it and Puckerman before he realizes what he's doing. Kurt stops and stares at Puckerman before asking, "Do you spend actual effort _trying_ to be as crude as possible? You do know that all the girls at school hate it, don't you?"

Smirking, Puckerman sets down the power wrench and takes a step toward Kurt; Kurt has to fight the urge to take his own step back and keep the distance between them constant. "See, they only say they hate it. Like, ninety percent of them think it's funny, but they also think that girls shouldn't laugh at poop jokes, so they don't. It's really just people with sticks so far up their asses they've forgotten _how_ to take a shit who don't get the humor."

Kurt has never felt more like punching someone in the face in his entire life. He takes a step forward and tries to remind himself how much it would actually hurt to throw a punch, especially when Puckerman ducked out of the way and then beat Kurt half to death for even trying. So, Kurt reaches for his tried-and-true weapon, his words. "You are an idiot - an ignorant, numskull, delinquent _jock_ who will never amount to anything more than this job that my dad _gave_ you. You didn't deserve it, you suck at it, and I loathe you!"

Puckerman nods through Kurt's rant, his jaw clenching tighter and tighter with every word that Kurt can't keep from spilling out of his mouth. Kurt's pretty sure this is the part where Puck gets fed up with Kurt insulting him and pulls a right hook out of nowhere. Instead, Puck pulls this scary low voice on him and says, "Look. I get it. You hate me. I hate you. But you know what? I don't care. I don't care because it's either putting up with your frickin' uppity attitude and your stupid spangly overalls and the way you just can't _help_ but do that prissy little dance when a song you like comes on the radio, or it's go home to the mom who can't decide whether she hates me or loves me so much it feels like hate and her asshole boyfriend who thinks it's goddamned funny to wake me up by kissing me on the mouth. So if you don't mind, you getting off my back would be a big help. Thanks."

Kurt can feel the blood drain from his face as Puckerman goes back to the tire he was working on, banging things around a little rougher than necessary. Kurt figures if everything he's said is true, then maybe Puck has good reason to be upset.

Kurt feels like apologizing, but he knows it won't be well received at the moment. He waits until Burt gets back with the tow truck and the celebrity (whose paperwork Kurt later notices says his name is Cooper Anderson). After Kurt helps his dad with the initial diagnosis and Cooper has gone down to the diner at the end of the block and come back again, Kurt notices that Puckerman is sitting in the corner by himself. Kurt surreptitiously gets closer, but on the other side of one of the parts shelves, and sees that Puck's polishing a random chrome hubcap. Kurt thinks it looks like it came from that '65 Chevy his dad serviced back in June, but he can't be sure from this angle. In any case, it's definitely not something that needs to be polished.

Interrupting his thoughts, a voice close to Kurt's ear asks, "So, you go to school around here?"

Kurt jumps and whirls to face Cooper, who definitely shouldn't be back here. He shouldn't be back here and Kurt shouldn't have been away from the desk long enough to let him back here. Ushering Cooper back toward the safer part of the shop, Kurt says, "Um, sure."

"Yeah, I can't say I ever went to," Cooper uses actual finger-quotes, "'Public' 'School', but my little brother's there now. I was actually on my way to Westerville visit him. He's headed into freshman year in the fall." Cooper shakes his head sadly. "I told my parents that Public School is no place for a gay kid who's also the shortest boy in his class, but they just wouldn't listen to me."

Kurt holds his breath for a moment, trying to figure out Cooper's intentions in telling Kurt this. Is he just making idle conversation, or has he made Kurt as gay? Well, given the way Kurt's decorated his coveralls, it's fairly obvious. But that doesn't mean Cooper's intentions with this conversation are necessarily innocent. "Okay?"

"Oh! I should totally give you his number. You could tell him all about what it's like being openly gay in a Midwestern public school!" Cooper looks so excited at the prospect that Kurt can't help but hiss and wave his hands around, trying to get the man to stop talking.

"Shh! I'm not! I mean-" Kurt huffs, pursing his lips until he realizes how gay that must look and schooling his features once more. "I mean, I haven't told my dad yet, so no. I wouldn't have any advice to give your brother."

Shrugging like Kurt's denial is no skin off his back, Cooper says, "That's alright, my young, closeted friend. Maybe I'll work on getting my brother out to LA instead. Get him a bit part on my next commercial. You know, if he works on his dance moves, he just might land the part."

Kurt opens his mouth to volunteer to be rescued off to a fabulous commercial-making career in California, but before he can say anything, Burt comes up behind Kurt and puts a heavy hand on Kurt's shoulder. He addresses Cooper as he says, "It's just a clogged fuel filter, like my son thought. You're just about ready to go, once I double check a few more things."

"Praise the lord!" Cooper cries, throwing his hands up toward the ceiling before pulling Burt and Kurt into a tight, three man hug. "The saviors of Lima, right here, folks!"

Once Cooper has paid his bill and left, Burt laughs and turns to Kurt. "That guy sure was a character."

"Yeah, dad," Kurt nods, watching as Puck abandons his polished hub cap and heads for the water cooler in the break room, steadfastly ignoring both Hummels. "A real character."

The next day is Friday and Puckerman doesn't come in on Fridays. Or Saturdays, and the shop is closed on Sundays. It's Monday before Kurt can apologize for assuming that someone as ill-behaved as Puckerman can't have human emotions or problems of his own.

Kurt finds Puckerman sorting a new shipment of hoses into their proper bins. Kurt doesn't greet Puckerman or otherwise give him any reasons to run away from Kurt's apology. He just out and says, "I'm sorry about the other day."

Puck doesn't miss a beat before saying, "I'm not."

It takes Kurt a moment to work up a response. "Are you sorry about spray painting my dad's shop?"

"Not really," Puckerman says with a shrug. Kurt must have been staring with incredulity, because Puckerman asks, "What?"

Shaking his head, Kurt walks away as he says, "I just don't understand you at all, Puckerman."

Maybe thirty seconds later, while Kurt is picking up the paperwork for the car Mrs. Oritz is scheduled to pick up in the next half hour, Puckerman calls out, "It's Puck. People call me Puck."

Kurt smiles to himself and hopes that this means his apology has been accepted.

Sometimes the shop will have a dead day here or there, and it's usually on those days that Burt rolls one of the junkers from the back lot into the shop. He'll tinker with the engine or do some body work or teach Kurt how to clean obscure pieces of the machinery. One day, though, Burt takes off to go run some errands, which means Kurt is stuck there _alone_ with Puck.

Kurt keeps praying for a customer to show up – because he's so bored he's been contemplating double checking all the receipts – but no one arrives. While Puck is also working, Kurt hasn't seen him for at least an hour, so Kurt figures he'll go find Puck and make sure he's doing something productive. 

Kurt finds Puck sitting on the floor between two stock shelves, rolling a tennis ball under his bent knees. Where did he even _find_ a tennis ball?

"Don't you think you should be working, since you're getting paid?" Kurt asks, planting his hands on his hips. 

"Chill out, Gayzilla," Puck practically groans. "We already did everything. It's not my fault Burt overbooked his employees on a dead-ass day."

"Don't call me that." Kurt frowns and Puck responds by shrugging, which just serves to infuriate Kurt. It's like Puck doesn't know how much names like "gayzilla" can hurt. Not quite sure how to focus his anger, Kurt eventually settles on, "Look, why don't you just go home, if you can't find a way to be productive?"

Puck stops rolling the tennis ball and stares at his knees for a second. Then he clears his throat and says, "Don't wanna go home."

"Then go to the movies or the park or something! Just go aw–"

Kurt gets cut off when the tennis ball hits the wall near his head. Kurt flinches and glares at Puck, who glares right back, like Kurt was the one throwing things at people's heads. Great, just when Kurt thought things between Puck and him were starting to warm up. 

The tennis ball bounces back and comes to rest at Kurt's feet. Puck's eyes flick down to it and he starts to curl forward, like he's going to pick it up and maybe throw it at Kurt's head again. In a fit of anger (and probably a little fear), Kurt kicks the ball away from Puck as hard as he can.

Unfortunately, they're inside. The tennis ball goes sailing, bounces off one of the support poles in the middle of the room and crashes into Burt's desk. The "World's Best Mechanic" mug that Kurt bought Burt for Christmas three years earlier topples to the side of the desk and hangs on the edge for almost a second until it tilts and falls. The crash made when the mug hits the floor echoes around the empty shop.

"Oh, crap." Kurt does something he always, always avoids and grabs a handful of his hair in shock. Then he realizes what he's done, frowns in grief for his hair, and realizes he's holding his breath. Letting it out, Kurt looks over at Puck, who's on his feet with wide eyes. "This is bad."

"We'll clean it up," Puck insists, brushing past Kurt to get to the broken mug. "Burt'll never know."

Following Puck over to the desk, Kurt asks, "But what do we say when Dad finds out it's missing?"

Puck crouches down and starts picking up pieces, setting them on a clear area of the desk. He shrugs. "Tell him a customer must have taken it?"

Frowning, Kurt raises his eyebrow at Puck. "You have _met_ my dad, haven't you? He'll try to track down your mysterious thief. He caught _you_. No, we need a better plan."

“We tell him a ghost did it!” Puck suggests.

“What?”

“No, wait. Nazis. No, the KGB!”

Kurt scoffs at Puck’s panicked suggestions. “My dad’s never gonna believe any of those. I mean, ghosts? Really?”

“Ghosts are real, dude,” Puck insists, but he twists up his mouth a little anyway. “You got any bright ideas?”

“Besides telling the truth?” Kurt doesn’t really like that plan, even if he believes that it’s the best option _in theory_. “Or, I don’t know, play dumb until we can find a new one?”

“I can do dumb.”

Puck says this so sincerely that Kurt can’t help but laugh. “Well, clearly it’s not a stretch for you. Let’s hope I’m a good enough actor to pull it off.”

“You’re a good actor,” Puck says, though he looks a little annoyed, possibly because Kurt all but called him stupid. “You never let ‘em see you sweat.”

“Huh.” Kurt looks down at the shards on the desk, more for something to look at rather than because he’s committed to the task at hand. “You noticed it was an act?”

“It would almost have to be.” Puck’s voice is quiet, much softer than Kurt has ever really heard from him, unless he’s making a tasteless joke under his breath. Kurt wonders if he was meant to hear Puck’s reply at all.

Working in relative silence, the two boys get the mess cleaned up without incident. Burt doesn’t notice his mug is missing until Kurt places a new one on his desk. “Kurt, did you bleach this mug or somethin’?”

Heart pounding in his ears, Kurt replies. “No. Why do you ask?”

“Just looks cleaner, is all,” Burt says with a shrug. He takes a sip of coffee as he walks away and there’s no more discussion of the mug. Kurt smiles at Puck, who’s watching from across the room. They’ve gotten away with it.

On a Wednesday afternoon, Kurt comes back from lunch and notices immediately that the radio has been changed to the station Burt prefers – full of early 80s rock that all sounds the same to Kurt’s ears. Kurt’s mother had been interested in an eclectic mix of music – from musicals to jazz to pop – but Burt had never really moved on from the musical tastes he must have developed in high school.

And not only has the station been changed, but someone’s singing along to "I Want to Know What Love Is", belting out the words to what he must think is an empty shop. Kurt finds Puck near one of the lifts, dancing around with his eyes closed. There’s a drip pan on the cart under the car, so Kurt figures Puck must be waiting for the oil to finish draining out.

Kurt hadn’t known that Burt was trusting Puck to do oil changes by himself yet. Yes, it's a simple procedure, but doing it when someone is there to check your work is completely different than doing it all by oneself. It's so easy to grab the wrong filter from the shelf or forget to double check that the plug is fitted properly before pouring new oil back in. Kurt has made these mistakes a handful of times since he’d started working in the shop, and he’d seen it done hundreds of times while he was growing up. Kurt feels a flare of jealousy for how much Burt has obviously started liking this kid who’d come into the shop a vandal and a bully.

And now what is Puck to Kurt? A co-worker? They certainly aren't friends. Kurt doesn't have _any_ friends, thank you very much. At least not ones in real life. There are a few people on various forums that he chats with on occasion, but it's always difficult to have meaningful conversations when Kurt is always conscious of what history trail he might be leaving. He’s never admitted, even anonymously, that he is gay.

The only person he's admitted it to has been Cooper Anderson, but he's fairly certain Puck knows. Hell, Kurt is fairly certain most of the kids at school _know_ , but that doesn't mean he's going to make things easy for them and _admit_ it.

So Puck is the annoying co-worker that Kurt has been forced to spend time adjacent to, if not with.

The problem becomes the fact that Puck is singing. He's singing and he's dancing around with the top of his overalls tied around his waist so he's only wearing an undershirt over his chest and his shoulders are bare. Puck's voice is even more beautiful than his body and Puck's body has Kurt blushing and averting his eyes. Kurt's chest feels tight and no. This can't happen. He can't develop a _crush_ on Noah Puckerman.

Kurt turns away and changes the radio back to the station he and his father have agreed on. Puck stops singing, but Kurt wouldn't know if he stopped dancing, because Kurt refuses to look in that direction. Fifteen minutes later, Puck slides the keys to the car he's been working on across the counter and practically into Kurt's lap.

"Yeah, I owned that oil change, man! Made it my _bitch_!" Puck gives Kurt a wide grin and pumps his fists into the air as he walks away.

Kurt rolls his eyes and thanks the universe for crush-withering stupidity. Then he goes to double check Puck's work before he starts up the car and drives it out into the parking lot. Kurt's birthday isn't until the first week of September, but Burt still lets him drive cars around the lot, as long as no one sees him doing it. 

Kurt makes a mental note to somehow figure out Puck's birthday without outright asking him. Kurt wants to have one thing he can do around the shop that Puck can't, even if it's only for a few months.

Puck's birthday is at the beginning of August. He comes in and shows off his license to everyone, including Rob, the new guy Burt hired to take Kurt and Puck's hours when they both go back to school in a few weeks. The whole day, Burt lets Puck drive whenever a car needs to be moved.

Kurt gets a sinking feeling that Puck is becoming the son Burt always wished he had. Puck likes cars and sports, he likes the same music as Burt, he likes the same clothes, he likes the same crap food. Puck even jokes about hot girls the same way Burt does when he thinks Kurt isn't listening.

Things get worse when Puck comes to work with a black eye and a deep red and purple bruise on his right wrist, and Burt makes Puck spend the night at the Hummel house.

The only spare bed is the sleeper couch in Kurt's basement room.

Kurt thinks he would rather die than share a room with Noah Puckerman, but he doesn't say this out loud. He doesn't say how much he hates the fact that Puck looks like he really does need their help, even if he protests constantly and loudly, "I'm fine, dude. It was just a fight with this kid!"

Eventually Burt wears him down and Puck agrees to spend the night. After they close up shop and go get a late dinner at a sit down restaurant that Burt not only talks through, but pays for, all three of them drive over to Puck’s mother’s house so Puck can get some things. 

Burt puts his arm behind Kurt’s headrest and uses it as leverage to turn himself until he’s looking back at Puck. “You ain’t back in ten minutes, I’m either coming in after you, or I’m calling the cops.”

Kurt notices how the words might seem threatening in a different context, but they make Puck look almost relieved instead. Puck still pauses with his hand on the doorway. “It was my fault. I don’t think–”

“S’not your job to think about things like this, okay, kid?”

Puck nods and leaves the car.

When Kurt hazards a glance over at his father, Burt says, “It’s only for a night or two. We’ll help Puck figure this out and then you can have your room back to yourself. Alright, buddy?”

“Yeah, alright,” Kurt says, even though he has to pinch his leg hard to keep from spewing out all the complaints he has about this situation. Why can’t they just call the authorities now and let them take care of it? Why can’t Puck go stay with a friend who he actually likes? Why is Puck their damn responsibility?

When Puck comes back to the car carrying a giant duffle bag filled with what looks like everything he owns, Kurt does allow himself to glare at his father in what Kurt hopes is an “I told you so” expression. 

At home, Kurt lets Burt give Puck the tour, immersing himself in his music and then his moisturizing routine, which he moves away from his vanity and into the bathroom for privacy’s sake. The only problem is that he keeps finding that he’s forgotten to bring things. Little things like the microfiber towel he keeps hung on the handle of the first drawer or the tweezers he uses to clean up his eyebrows once his skin is soft and pliable. Eventually Kurt hears, “And this is where you’ll be staying: Kurt’s room!”

“Where’s the little dude gonna be?” Puck asks, and Kurt frowns at being called “little.” Sure Kurt is smaller than his dad and since Puck had that growth spurt over the summer, Kurt is shorter than Puck by even more inches than he was before, but Kurt wouldn’t describe himself as “little.” He’s sixteen years old, for god’s sake.

Kurt sighs and abandons his bathroom sanctuary, watching as Burt points around the room. “That’s Kurt’s bed, over there’s the sleeper couch. Here, let’s get rid of this cover thingy.”

Puck looks out of place and uncomfortable in Kurt’s room. He’s got his hands shoved deep into his pockets until Burt starts struggling with the coverslip Kurt put over the couch to hide the disturbing floral pattern and make it fit the monochromatic theme of his room. Puck half-heartedly helps Burt, but neither one of them can figure out how to undo the ties keeping it in place.

Kurt scoffs at them and moves forward, saying, “Here. Let me.” Puck startles visibly at Kurt’s appearance and shoves his fists back in his pockets. Oh, yes. Kurt can see this working out _so well_. Kurt undoes the ties and Burt helps him pull off first the coverslip and then the cushions which hide the mattress. They pull out the mattress, which is already made with sheets that should be fresh enough, since Kurt is diligent about changing them every three months when he deep cleans his room. He tells himself he’s preparing for a visit from extended family, but whatever Kurt was preparing for by keeping clean sheets on the sleeper bed, it wasn’t this.

Puck takes the pillow Burt hands him and mutters, “Thanks.”

A strange silence descends over the three of them until Burt says, “Well, I’ll let you boys get settled. Holler if you need me.”

Kurt feels like hollering right away, but he doesn't, mostly because it would be rude. Not that Puck ever gave a thought to being rude to Kurt during school last year, but Kurt knows he's lying to himself when he thinks that Puck hasn't changed over the summer. The Puck who spray painted "Homo Hummel" on the garage wouldn't dream of spending the night at Kurt's house.

So either Puck's changed, or he's desperate. Or both.

Kurt rearranges his vanity, letting the act of putting all his things back in order calm him down. He thinks maybe he should talk to Puck, make him feel even the smallest bit welcome. The problem is that Kurt doesn't know what to say. It's not like he and Puck have anything in common, except for perhaps they both trust Burt to house them.

Kurt watches in the vanity mirror as Puck sits down on the sleeper bed (he winces when it doesn't spring up as far as he must have been hoping) and starts pulling things out of his bag. He's got an ancient-looking apple laptop, a nice set of headphones that Kurt wonders if Puck bought with the money he's been making at the shop, and various scattered and unfolded pieces of clothing.

The lack of organization as Puck rummages through his bag sets Kurt's teeth on edge. "Could you not?"

Puck glares up at Kurt and asks, "Could I not what?"

Kurt bites his upper lip and thinks about his phrasing before he says, "It's just that I like having a clean room. Could you _please_ make an effort to contain your belongings?"

"I'm just trying to find something," Puck practically growls. "I'll put everything back when I'm done. Or will that not work for His Highness?"

"That's fine," Kurt sniffs. He thinks about telling Puck not to get comfortable here. This can't last for long, despite the sheer amount of crap Puck's taken out of his mother's house, like he's not expecting to go back anytime soon. If Puck isn't gone two days from now, Kurt's going to have a very serious conversation with his father about boundaries and personal space.

With muted triumphance, Puck pulls a toothbrush from the bottom of his bag. The bristles are grayish and even from across the room, Kurt can see that there are more than a few hairs stuck to it. Puck asks, "You got toothpaste?"

Kurt scrunches up his nose. "If you try to use that toothbrush, I will seriously vomit. Probably on you."

Looking at the toothbrush, Puck frowns. "It's not _that_ bad. I was gonna wash it off first."

"The only way I can get behind this plan is if by 'wash off' you mean incinerate. C'mon, I've got a whole box of new toothbrushes. You might as well use one." Kurt gets up and waves for Puck to follow him to the bathroom.

Puck follows reluctantly, saying, "Mine's fine. Just because I forgot my other one at home, doesn't mean I need a new one. This old one's fine."

"Puck, that toothbrush looks like it could be harboring woodland creatures. And not the cute, Disney ones who help you get dressed. The kind that _poop_." Kurt crouches down to open the cabinet and pulls out a new toothbrush and a travel-sized tube of toothpaste. "Here."

When Kurt looks up at Puck, he finds the boy leaning to one side, gaze on what looks like Kurt's rear. But that would be insane. No one ever checks out Kurt Hummel, much less straight jocks. Puck must be looking at something else. Before Kurt's even done processing the thought, Puck's eyes are on the far wall, in the shower stall. Puck's frowning and blushing. Without even looking at Kurt, Puck grabs the toothbrush and growls, "Thanks."

Kurt gives Puck his privacy.

After Kurt's turned out the lights and navigated the path back to his bed, he sits in the dark, listening to Puck breathe. The sleeper bed is a good fifteen feet away from Kurt's bed, so Kurt only catches the occasional louder breath, or when Puck changes position, but that intermittent arrival of the sounds makes Kurt listen that much harder. 

Eventually Puck starts snoring lightly, a barely-there noise, but calming in a way Kurt wouldn't have expected. Maybe it's the white noise or maybe it's the fact that knowing Puck is asleep makes Kurt feel a little safer, a little less like he's going to wake up murdered, but it only takes a few more minutes before Kurt drifts off as well.

Because Kurt's room is in the basement, it doesn't get much natural light, even in the summer, and therefore waking up in the mornings used to be a dire proposition. Since Burt gives Kurt the stink-eye whenever he tries to pour himself a cup from the coffeemaker, Kurt decided to go for a different method of waking up. He scoured his online auction and wholesale sites and bought for cheap a full-spectrum lamp, which he put on a timer to turn on at the same time as his alarm.

The morning after Puck sleeps over, the alarm clock and lamp turn on simultaneously. Unfortunately, Kurt positioned the lamp right behind the sofa bed, to give good light while studying on the sofa and also so the lamp was far enough away from his bed to provide a less-than-jarring wake-up dose of pseudo-sunlight. Puck doesn't quite get the less-than-jarring end of the stick on that one.

"Wha' th' shit?" he cries, shielding his eyes with one hand and propping himself up on his other elbow. "Wha's goin' on?"

Kurt silences his alarm and says, "Sorry. Sorry, I can turn out the light." He scrambles out of bed and leans over the sofa bed to reach the switch. His action plunges the room back into near-darkness, which makes Kurt chuckle nervously. "Better?"

Puck's voice catches, but after a moment he completes his thought. Which is in Neanderthal apparently, because it's just a groan.

Well, someone isn't a morning person.

Kurt feels his way toward the bathroom and turns on that light, from which Puck is almost entirely shaded. He uses the light (and the one in his walk-in closet) to gather the things he needs to start his morning. On his way back toward the bathroom, Kurt notices Puck laying on his side, watching him. As soon as they make eye contact, Puck looks away, which only leaves Kurt more confused.

"Um, do you need to get in here before I take a shower?"

Voice still rough, Puck says, "Nah." He shakes his head and turns over to face away from Kurt.

Kurt ponders the situation as he closes the bathroom door. Maybe Puck is disturbed by Kurt's state of dress? Why would he be, though? Kurt's wearing loose cotton pajamas. They're simple, but nice, light blue. Very 1950s, with the buttons and lapels, short sleeves and long pants. Maybe Puck's more disgusted by the body inside the pajamas than he is by the outfit itself.

The thought shouldn't hurt as much as it does. Puck is a non-entity. He works in Kurt's father's shop and goes to Kurt's school and that's it. His opinion on Kurt's appearance doesn't matter. It doesn't.

Kurt knows he's awkward looking and not traditionally handsome, but he tells himself constantly that almost everyone goes through adolescence awkwardly. The pictures of Burt from his high school yearbook are hilarious, and Burt had been popular. Kurt's just … he's just an ugly duckling, waiting to get out of this town before he turns into a swan and shows everyone that they were wrong.

He'll even hire some of them to do his menial labor, like mowing his lawn and cleaning out his septic tank. These are the fantasies that get Kurt through his day, so he spends most of his shower time imagining Puck in increasingly demeaning jobs (even if he stubbornly still looks good doing them).

When Kurt leaves the bathroom, his hair has been moussed and dried, but not yet styled, and he's wearing a shorts and short-sleeve shirt outfit that's appropriate for the weather. It doesn't matter that he'll have to change into overalls as soon as they all get to the shop. Wearing these clothes makes Kurt happy. If he can't come out as gay and he can't fit in at school, at least Kurt can wear the clothes he likes to wear.

The lamp behind the sofa is back on and Puck's sitting cross-legged in the middle of the sleeper bed, looking almost lost. His brows are turned up and he's staring a million yards off past Kurt and one hand keeps sweeping over the sheets, back and forth.

The words are out of Kurt's mouth before he makes the decision to speak. "You okay?"

Puck shakes a little, like Kurt's voice brought him back down to earth. "Yeah, no. I'm good." Puck clears his throat and leans over the side of the bed to pull his duffle up onto the mattress.

Kurt leaves Puck to his latest search through the duffle and sits at his vanity. Now that a whole night has gone by without Puck murdering or molesting Kurt in his sleep, Kurt feels less like hiding his beauty regimen away in the bathroom. It's more comfortable here at the vanity with his chair, anyway. If Puck has a problem with moisturizers and hair products, he can just deal.

Puck's still in the shower when Kurt finishes getting ready, so he tucks a few of his valuables away and goes up to the kitchen. When Kurt gets there, Burt has already started the coffee and is staring at Kurt’s mother’s old cookbook – the one with all the important recipes in it. Burt’s holding an egg in one hand and a whisk in the other, the sight of which makes Kurt chuckle. “Hey, Dad.”

“Kurt,” Burt replies, looking at Kurt over his shoulder. “Get over here and give your old man a hand.”

Joining his father at the counter, Kurt asks, “What brought about this sudden foray into the culinary arts? Because of our guest?”

“Yeah. I figure the kid could use a nice meal after sleeping on that pull out. I was thinking pancakes, but we don’t have a mix and this looks kind of complicated, so now I’m thinking omelets. What do you think?” “Sure, dad,” Kurt says, taking the whisk away from Burt before he hurts himself. “Omelets it is.”

By the time Puck arrives upstairs, shuffling into the kitchen like he’s not sure whether he’s welcome or not, Kurt has whipped up several heart-healthy omelets, as well as one filled with an array of mild cheeses, for Puck. Burt keeps eying that one up as he picks at his, pulling out the mushrooms, and Kurt’s pretty certain the only reason he hasn’t sneaked a few bites is that Kurt specifically said it was for Puck.

Puck nods, but doesn’t say hello as he sits down at the table, not at the place Kurt set for him, but at an empty seat. Rolling his eyes, Kurt says, “Good morning,” and pushes the cheese omelet over to Puck along with a set of silverware and a napkin.

“How ya doin’, kiddo?” Burt asks, still chewing on his omelet. It’s funny how quickly he’s eating, given how much he’d protested the omelet to begin with. “Sleep okay?”

“Sure,” Puck says with a shrug, taking the fork Kurt gave him and poking at his omelet. “Why’s it a different color?”

Kurt answers as he’s sitting down in front of his own breakfast. “I didn’t know what vegetables you liked, so I made that one just with cheese. If you want tomatoes, mushrooms, and spinach, we could trade.”

Puck takes a look at Kurt and Burt’s plates and wrinkles his nose. “This one’s good.”

Trying not to look like he’s staring, Kurt watches Puck eat. He tucks in quickly, like he’s used to eating on the run, and Kurt wonders how much of that has to do with the fact that Puck never wanted to be at home lately. It’s hard for Kurt to imagine not having a safe place to go home to. At least Puck is popular. He’s safe at school and everyone loves him there. Kurt thinks that if he had to choose his life or Puck’s, he’d still pick his own. Sure he’s weird and effeminate and _gay_ , but at least he knows his dad loves him. Puck’s not that lucky.

Burt pushes away his empty plate and says, “So,” in that tone of voice that means he’s about to say something important and he wants to be heard. “Kurt, buddy, would you be okay catching the bus and opening up the shop by yourself this morning? There’s nothing major scheduled.”

“Uh, yeah,” Kurt agrees, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Sure. I can do that. What are you going to do?”

“I figure I’ll help Puck look into all his options. You know, really get this thing solved.”

Hearing Puck gulp nervously, Kurt turns to look at him. Instead of looking relieved that an adult is trying to help him out of the situation he’d gotten himself into, Puck looks almost scared. What does he have to be scared about?

“Time to get movin’ if you’re gonna open the shop on time, bud,” Burt says, giving Kurt a pointed look. He clears his throat. “Oh, yeah. Sure. I’ll ... get going, then. Bye.”

Kurt gathers his house and shop keys from the hook next to the door and leaves, wondering what he'll come home to in the afternoon. Surely Puck was just acting from an overabundance of caution when he packed most of his things, right? Maybe the fight with whoever bruised Puck really _was_ Puck's fault and he just stayed the night to make Burt happy. (Kurt thinks, given the anger and despair he sees sometimes on Puck's face, that this possibility is just wishful thinking on Kurt's part.) 

After lunch, which Kurt had delivered from the teriyaki place down the street, Burt and Puck show up at the shop. Puck takes Burt's direction and goes to take inventory on the tires, while Burt sits down next to where Kurt's changing a leaky radiator hose. "Hey, kiddo."

"Dad," Kurt says in reply, setting down his tools. He knows from the look on Burt's face that this isn't going to be a light-hearted talk.

"So, I went with Puckerman to talk to his mother and I won't repeat the whole conversation, since that– Well, it's private family business. But the conversation ended with me agreeing to take Noah in for a little while."

Kurt wishes he was surprised, but he knew as soon as his dad made the initial offer, and as soon as Puck brought practically all of his things over, that this wasn't going to be a one-night deal. Crossing his arms over his chest, Kurt asks, "How long is a little while?"

"Well, I've got a few numbers for people to call – Noah's relatives – to see if someone else wants to take him. But otherwise..."

"Otherwise, you just adopted another son." Kurt swallows against the knot in his throat. This can't be happening, can it? Kurt can see it now – he is being replaced. Burt found a son who isn't as weird, isn't as difficult, isn't as _gay_. And he likes Puck better. Shit, now Kurt is going to cry.

Burt frowns and gives Kurt a steady look. "Now, don't go doing that. You know you're my only son. And even if you weren't, that doesn't mean I'd love you any less than I do right now. Nothing changes."

Laughing ruefully, Kurt wipes one of his eyes. "Everything's going to change, Dad. You may love me, but Puck's the son you always wish you had. It's okay. I understand."

Burt narrows his eyes at Kurt and just looks at him for a moment. "Where in the hell did you get a crazy idea like that?"

"He likes sports and your music and _girls_!" Kurt gasps and puts a hand in front of his mouth. "I didn't mean that."

A slow smile spreads across Burt's face and he breaks into a chuckle. "Yeah, ya did."

"No!" Kurt cries, frantically patting his father's arm. "No, I didn't! I like girls!"

"Kurt."

Burt's no-nonsense stare breaks Kurt after a moment. He sighs in frustration and throws up his hands. "Fine! I'm gay, okay?"

"Kurt. Kurt, look at me." Kurt turns works up the courage and looks Burt in the eye. "Okay."

"Okay?" Kurt knows his voice sounds as surprised as he feels. "But-" Then he makes a realization. "You knew?"

Nodding, Burt says, "I've known since you were three." He shrugs. "All you wanted for your birthday was a pair of sensible heels. It's okay. And I love you just as much. Got it?"

After a long, cleansing breath, Kurt nods. "I got it, Dad. Thanks." He's still trying to come to grips with the fact that he's been hiding this part of himself for so long when he didn't have to be. Enough time passes that Burt shifts, starting to stand, and Kurt realizes he's not finished with the original conversation.

"But," Kurt puts a hand back on Burt's arm, "what about Puck? I don't want to share my room with him _forever_ , Dad."

"I know, buddy. I know," Burt replies, patting Kurt's hand and continuing to stand. "Just give it a few more days, I'll make those calls, and then all three of us will make a game plan."

"But we hate each other, Dad."

Burt rolls his eyes. "You just don't _know_ each other, Kurt. Noah's a good kid, and you two have a lot more common ground than you think."

As Burt walks away, Kurt calls after him, "What does _that_ mean?"

"Figure it out," Burt replies without looking back at Kurt. Kurt shoots a dirty look in his direction and ignores Puck when he comes in from the back.

Kurt leaves before either Burt or Puck, walking over to the library to wait for them there. When Kurt doesn't want to do his homework in the office, or needs a faster internet connection than skimming off the coffee shop next door, he heads over to the library. Right now, he wants to be away from Puck and Burt for a few hours. If he doesn't get his alone time in his room anymore, he has to get it at some time.

He pokes around on the internet for a bit before navigating to one of the forums he reads fairly frequently. He's commented a few times, but today he feels the need to make his own post.

>   
> **I came out to my dad**
> 
> I know everyone must be shocked, but yes, I'm gay, and yes my dad knows now. Apparently he already knew, which in retrospect, makes a lot of sense. 
> 
> In other news, if accepting his gay son wasn't enough, my Dad must be campaigning for father of the year. He pretty much adopted this boy from my school. Said boy was one of my bullies at school last year, but he's been working at my father's shop over the summer and has changed a lot. I'm still not thrilled about having to share a room with him, though.
> 
> What do you fine people think? Should I stage a coup and demand my own room back? Should I take a page from my father's book and pretend to be a saint?
> 
> My dad insists that he didn't take in this boy because he and the boy have much more in common than my father and I do, but I'm not sure I believe him. I think it's all a ploy to replace me with an edgier, straighter version of myself. I mean, all this kid needs is a punk haircut and a leather jacket and he's the poster child for teenage years gone wrong.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for listening, internet people.

Over the course of the next hour, Kurt gets a bunch of congratulatory messages and a few pieces of advice. Most of the advice is given in jest. One commenter suggests Kurt kill Puck in his sleep, because apparently he "has it coming." However, one commenter actually gives Kurt some thoughtful advice.

"I know it's hard to make peace with your bullies, but remember that until you've walked a mile in someone else's shoes, it's impossible to know where he's coming from. That doesn't excuse his previous behavior, but it might help you move past it. That being said, if he does anything that makes you uncomfortable, tell your dad right away. Wouldn't you rather be "a snitch" than be bullied in your own home?"

Kurt thanks everyone for their feedback, and packs up his things just as the librarian starts shooing people along. He waits on the steps outside, ignoring Patches, and listening to his music. He's chosen something a little more upbeat, trying to keep in mind that he came out to his dad and the world didn't end. 

Kurt has his eyes closed and is probably singing along when Burt honks his horn to get Kurt's attention. Startling half out of his skin, Kurt frowns and picks up his bag, walking over to the car. He goes to the passenger door, but Puck is already sitting shotgun and doesn't show any intention of moving.

Kurt swallows his complaint, trying to keep that one comment in mind, and sits behind Puck instead. After all, it's a five minute drive. Kurt can put up with a lot if there's a time limitation to it. After all, high school only lasts four years, and he's already made it through one. What's five minutes sitting in the backseat?

Kurt just hopes this isn't setting a precedent that he's going to have a hell of a time undoing.

After everyone's settled down and Kurt turns off the light, he listens to Puck breathing again. It's not the same steady rhythm as last night, so Kurt knows Puck isn't asleep yet. How is Kurt supposed to sleep if Puck won't?

Kurt thinks about all his remedies for sleeplessness and finally asks with a huff, "D'you want some warm milk?"

"What?" Puck asks, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. "Warm milk? That sounds disgusting."

"To help you sleep." Kurt stands up and heads toward the stairs. "In any case, I need one, having to listen to you toss and turn over there."

Kurt heads upstairs and is just pulling the jug of milk out of the refrigerator when Puck slinks into the kitchen. He watches Kurt pour milk into a pan and start the stove, and stands silent for a few more moments before he speaks. "Didn't mean to keep you up."

"I figured," Kurt said as he stirred the milk with a wooden spoon. "I mean, you haven't been actively cruel to me since school let out, so starting a campaign of torture-by-sleep-deprivation against me would be a surprise."

Puck tilts his head like he's agreeing with Kurt, his eyes trained on the circular motion of Kurt's spoon. Maybe Kurt can hypnotize Puck into going to sleep. When Puck does speak several minutes later, his whisper sounds deafening. "I don't hate you."

"Oh," Kurt says, accidentally flinging a few droplets of milk out of the pan. "Well, that's … um, good to hear." As Kurt continues stirring, he notices Puck giving him an expectant look. What is he- oh. "I don't hate you either." Kurt adds, "Anymore," under his breath.

Puck laughs.

When Kurt's satisfied with the amount of steam rising from the milk, he turns off the stove and reaches into the cupboard for a set of mugs. He gets the first mug poured without incident, but as he's pouring the second, a loud noise startles Kurt into splashing milk all over the counter.

"Was that someone knocking on the door?"

"Sounded like," Puck agrees, handing Kurt the towel that had been hanging on the oven door. His voice is nonchalant, but when Kurt looks at Puck, he sees that the boy's eyes are wide. He looks almost terrified.

"I'll go wake up Dad." Kurt starts down the hallway to his father's room, but Puck isn't waiting. He's heading for the front door with this weird determination that makes Kurt feel sick to his stomach. Kurt abandons his task to go get Burt and follows Puck to the front door instead.

By the time he gets there, Puck already has the door open, revealing a middle-aged man, who's leaning on the house like he owns it. Kurt gets the urge to push the man away and then wash the siding to get rid of his grubby hand prints. Kurt's about to ask what the man wants when Puck asks, "What are you doing here?"

"Your Ma," the man says to Puck before giving Kurt a little nod, "told me you're not living at home anymore. I have to say, Noah, I'm hurt that you two came to this decision without me. I know you and your mother don't always see eye-to-eye, but I'm sure if we'd called a family meeting–"

"You're not my family," Puck says, his voice as harsh and vehement as Kurt has ever heard it. "Leave."

"But, Noah," the man says, moving his hand to press it against the door, as if bracing to keep it open. Kurt's heart races suddenly and he's torn between running to get Burt and not leaving Puck alone with this man. "Don't you think you owe me a conversation? We didn't even talk about you leaving to go move in with your little boyfriend." The man nods toward Kurt again, as if his insinuation would be lost without the gesture.

"I'm not–" Kurt says at the same time Puck insists, "He's not my boyfriend."

The man smirks. "Right. Well..." He leans closer to Puck and Kurt can barely make out what he says next. "You know what I can offer you, Noah. Just come home with me now and everything will be forgiven."

"Fuck off," Puck says, closing the door.

Kurt expects the man to fight Puck, to push the door to keep it open, or to bang on the door again once it was closed. Instead, the man says just loud enough for his voice to be heard through the door, "You'll change your mind sooner or later."

Kurt pushes aside the curtains in the window next to the door and watches the man walk back to the street and a car that's parked there. When he turns back toward Puck, Kurt's surprised to see the boy resting his forehead against the door. Puck's hand is clenched on the doorknob so tightly his knuckles are white and his body is shaking like he's cold.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asks gently.

"Fine," Puck says with a sniff. He wipes his face on the shoulder of his t-shirt and finally lets go of the doorknob. His hands are shaking, which Kurt takes to mean that Puck isn't at all fine.

"Come on," Kurt says, carefully not touching Puck, but trying to lead him back toward the kitchen anyway. Once Puck starts walking, Kurt takes a second to deadbolt the front door again. "We've still got that warm milk to drink."

"I bet it's disgusting." Puck's voice quavers and he sticks his fists in the pockets of his pajama pants. "I'll probably puke."

Kurt doesn't miss a beat. "Aim for the sink." He takes both mugs, which are a little cooler now, and hands one to Puck. Kurt takes his mug and sits at the dining room table.

Puck curls both hands around his mug, but he hesitates, standing between the kitchen proper and the dining room. Kurt uses one foot to edge an empty chair away from the table, as an invitation. Eventually, Puck takes it.

Kurt is dying to ask about the visitor and what his words to Puck meant, but he can guess that asking outright will just make Puck clam up. So instead, Kurt drinks his milk. After a minute, he realizes that he's humming aimlessly, so Kurt lets the tune morph into a familiar melody. 

Puck snorts a chuckle. "I'm not sure Judy Garland is the answer here."

Kurt doesn't think he's ever been as shocked about anything as he is over the fact that not only does Puck know who Judy Garland is, but he could recognize a song of hers just from Kurt humming it. Granted, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," is an iconic song, but Kurt knows lots of people wouldn't be able to name the singer. It's probably the shock that keeps Kurt from minding his tongue. "Who _are_ you?"

Looking down at his hands, which are wrapped around his mug, Puck picks at one thumb with the other. "I don't– I don't really know, I guess."

Kurt nods. He gets it. It's difficult being a teenager. 

Before Kurt can come up with another, more polite, question, Puck asks one of his own. "You ever done somethin' stupid, somethin' so fucked up that it feels like you might never get out from under the weight of it? Like it's strangling the life out of you?"

"I ... can't say that I have." Kurt watches Puck carefully before deciding to ask, "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No." Puck sighs, then takes a sip of his milk. He doesn't grimace or spit it back out, so Kurt considers his warm milk experiment at least a partial success. "But I think I need to tell _someone_ , and I'm not comin' up with anyone better."

Kurt feels like being offended, but he knows that right now, this isn't about him. "Okay."

"Okay," Puck repeats with a nod, but it takes him a long, silent minute to start talking.

"I just wanted to know what it was like." Puck runs a finger around the edge of his mug and rubs the moisture onto the wood of the table. "And there weren't that many options. It's not like anyone at school ever talks about it, other than as a joke. And I tried to ignore it, I did, you know? But I just kept..." Puck sighs. "Nothing felt right. I just wanted the itch or whatever to go away."

Kurt grows more and more confused the longer Puck speaks, and he's sure the confusion shows on his face. Puck looks expectant, so Kurt asks, "Are– I mean, is it drugs? What you're talking about?"

Puck gives Kurt a confused look. "No. How did you get drugs from that?"

"I don't know. No one at school talks about it. An itch that won't go away. What am I supposed to think?" Kurt huffs in frustration.

"Gay sex!" Puck cries. His eyes go wide and then cut over to the hallway toward Burt's room. 

Kurt gasps in surprise, then holds his breath, waiting for Burt to stir. When it seems like they're safe, Kurt takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Gay _sex_?"

"Yeah," Puck says, his shoulders slumping. "I just wanted to _know_ , once and for all. Didn't think I could ask you, ya'know, since I was such a dick."

Kurt feels like the ground is shifting under his chair, making his stomach drop. "You thought about asking me to have sex with you?"

Puck shrugs and Kurt guesses that's as good as a yes. 

No one finds Kurt attractive, least of all one of the most popular boys in school. He thinks about what it would have been like, if Puck would have asked him _that_. "I would have thought you were joking. I would have run away."

"Figures."

Kurt waits for Puck to start talking again, to finish his story, but all Puck does is take a few more swallows of milk and grimace. Kurt thinks about just letting things lie, letting Puck finish the story there. The problem is that Kurt can't help but want to hear the end of it. He's a big fan of primetime soaps, and the juicy details Puck's hinted at just irk Kurt's curiosity. "So...?"

Puck shakes his head and finally looks up at Kurt, "So I went and got what I wanted. Or, what I _thought_ I wanted."

That meant sex, right? Well, if Kurt had been forced to guess, he wouldn't have pegged Puck as a virgin. Most of the popular kids had sex, even though Kurt thought they were all too young for something that intimidating. Of course, people like Puck were fearless, weren't they? Then why had he started the conversation with asking Kurt about mistakes? Had Puck's experiment, if you will, been a mistake? "You had sex. With a boy."

"I wish." Puck chuckles sadly and rubs one cheek against his shoulder. After a long breath, he admits, "I had sex with the guy who showed up here."

"But," Kurt exclaims, his jaw dropping open, "that man is _old_! I bet he's almost as old as my dad! Why would you _do_ something like that? Oh, that is so gross."

A scowl pulls the edges of Puck's mouth down and he shoves his mug away from him. "Yeah, so it was a mistake, okay? I get it now. I just … I thought it was a good idea at the time, and … and I thought I could just try it out and then never have to see him again if I didn't like it."

The question slips out of his mouth before Kurt has a chance to stop it. "Did you?"

Puck looks startled as he meets Kurt's eyes, but then the edges of his lips quirk upward. "I knew you were a pervert, Hummel."

"I-!" Kurt huffs and tries to ignore how hot his cheeks grow. "Nevermind. I don't want to know. Obviously sleeping with a 40-year-old was the big mistake, not to mention _illegal_."

"It was … a mistake, I mean." Puck runs a hand back through his hair. "Gene found out who I am and kept getting all up in my business. When I kept saying no to him, he started dating _my mom_!"

Kurt feels like he's going to be sick. He remembers what Puck said about his mother's boyfriend waking Puck up by kissing him. Shivering with disgust, Kurt asks, "Why didn't you tell anyone? He should be in jail!"

"I told my mom," Puck said. "I told her Gene was a sick fuck and not to let him stay over at our house, but she didn't believe me."

"And the black eye?" Kurt nods his chin toward the bruise on Puck's face, which has turned yellow and green over the past two days.

Puck rubs his face with one hand and shrugs. "Dunno. Gene grabbed me, cornered me. Told me to stop playing 'hard to get.' I shoved him and then I don't really remember this happening." Puck points to his eye, keeping his gaze down on the table.

Taking a long, cleansing breath, Kurt realizes how much he really would like a shower, but he doubts water and soap would help wash away the slimy feeling he has on Puck's behalf. Puck hasn't said so, but Kurt thinks that Puck's mother must have sided with her (probably-gay-and-in-the-closet) boyfriend, instead of with her son. Kurt's heart _hurts_ and he doesn't know how he can ever make something this big alright again. "Does my dad know?"

"Some of it. Not the part where I slept with Gene in the first place."

Kurt wants to ask if Puck is actually gay, but he knows it's not the right time. Kurt doesn't know if there'd ever be a right time to ask that question of anyone, much less someone who had such a bad experience their first time. Kurt wants his first time to be romantic, and preferably with someone nearly his own age (or Cooper Anderson). 

Maybe Puck's mom knows he's gay, and that's why she doesn't want to take his side.

Maybe this whole situation just sucks to high heaven, and not in the good way. (And maybe Kurt has been paying a little too much attention to the crude jokes Burt and Puck tell at the shop.)

Kurt has to do something to make Puck feel a little bit better. Despite the way the summer started, and despite the way Kurt still has his suspicions about Burt wanting a better son, Kurt can't just sit here, listening to Puck's story, and do nothing. But what does Kurt have, besides his words? It'll have to do for now. "I've decided that you can stay."

"Gee, thanks," Puck says with a mildly amused scoff. "I'll try to contain my gratitude."

Giving Puck a chuckle that's more awkward than Kurt had been going for, Kurt gets up and says, "I'm going to go to bed. You should come try to get some sleep, too." He stands up and takes his empty mug to the sink.

"In a minute." Puck pulls his mug from practically across the table so it's close to his chest. "I'm just gonna … yeah."

Kurt has no idea what Puck means by that, but it's okay. Puck's dealing with a lot right now, and maybe Kurt hasn't been harassed by a creepy, middle-aged man, but he lost his mother young. He knows what it's like to need a few minutes to collect yourself in private. Kurt does make a detour to the front door, to double check that the deadbolt is turned, which it is.

Kurt goes down into the basement and gets in bed, waiting for Puck to make his way downstairs, but he falls asleep before Puck comes to bed.

Heavy footfalls on the stairs wake Kurt, and Burt's voice says, "Up and at 'em, boys. We've got a business to run! Only a few more days before school starts, so you'd better get your hours in now!"

Kurt sits up and rubs at his eyes. "Hey, Dad. Okay, I'm up." It feels like it's the middle of the night, but his bedside clock says it's almost seven. Kurt supposed staying up late to talk to Puck had to have an effect.

"Noah already in the bathroom?" Burt asks, but the bathroom door is open and dark, and there's no one sleeping on the pull out mattress. It doesn't even look like the bed has been disturbed since Kurt and Puck got up for warm milk the night before. And Puck's bag is gone.

"I don't–" Kurt says, getting up and looking around before brushing past his father to check the ground floor. "Puck?"

Burt follows Kurt with a grim expression on his face. Kurt shakes his head. "No! Where did he go? Puck's supposed to be _here_."

"I don't know, kiddo," Burt said, putting a solid hand on Kurt's shoulder. "Maybe he and his mom patched things up."

"Unlikely," Kurt says, heading for the garage. He opens the door and finds that Burt's old Buick is gone, but the year-old Ford pickup is still there. "At least he stole Clarice, and not the truck. That's something, anyway."

Burt grunts in agreement, looking severely disappointed. "Don't know what that boy's thinkin'." Burt sighs.

Just as Kurt starts nodding in agreement, the garage door opens. Kurt looks back at Burt to make sure he didn't lean against the button near the door ( _again_ ), but Burt is standing a good two feet away from it.

And then Kurt sees the Buick, waiting for the garage door to lift up enough for it to pull in. Puck is at the wheel, and he waves as he eases forward. Before long, Puck is out of the car with a stack of bright green paper and a grin. "Guys, you gotta see this. I just ... like had this fucking _idea_ last night, so I drove to the 24 hour print shop by the hospital and..." With a flourish, Puck hands Burt and then Kurt a piece of paper each.

Printed on the paper is a flyer, for Hummel Tire and Lube. It says, "Run by the best dudes in Lima!" And, "If you want a fair deal, without all the BS, come see us!" There's also a coupon at the bottom for fifteen percent off the price of an oil change for first time customers.

"Noah?" Burt frowns a little, but he looks conflicted about it. "Fifteen percent? I don't know..."

"No, I worked it all out," Puck insists, pushing past the two Hummels and into the house. He heads toward the kitchen, saying, "Do you know how many people in Lima are actual first-time customers? There are like, forty thousand people in Lima. If you take out all the people who don't drive, that's like twenty thousand cars. You have only two thousand of those cars in your computer. That's a lot of business we could be getting, and people love coupons! My Nana goes apeshit over them, like on that show with all those crazy extreme coupon bitches."

Kurt doesn't know what to think. As long as he's remembered, they haven't ever done a coupon campaign. "Even if it brings in customers, can we afford to give them fifteen percent off?"

"It's, like, three dollars. It cuts our profit down from five bucks to two, but if we do three times as many of them, that's actually more profit. Not to mention all the other services we can offer people once they're in the door."

Kurt blinks long and slow before looking over at Burt, who looks just as amazed. Then Burt chuckles. "Who are you and what have you done with the thankless punk who spray painted my shop?"

Puck shrugs and looks down, but Kurt can see the wide smile on his face. "Anyway, I printed off a bunch of these and I thought I'd go around putting them in people's mailboxes or somethin'."

"Yeah," Burt says, reaching forward to clap Puck on the shoulder. The gesture sends a shiver of jealousy up Kurt's throat, but Kurt ignores it. He's been so wrong about Puck this whole time. It just wouldn't be fair to be mad at him for taking the opportunities Burt has given him. "Yeah. Sounds good, kid. And maybe when you're done with that, you'd like to come into the shop to learn a bit more about how we keep the books."

Puck nods eagerly, which makes Kurt laugh. "That's my _least_ favorite thing to do. You're welcome to it."

Grinning, Puck nudges Kurt with his elbow as he passes on his way toward the door down to the basement. Kurt can't help but smile back.

Puck holds up the flyer Kurt brought home from school and asks, "You're actually thinking about signing up for this crap? And here I thought you were getting cooler."

"I've always been cool," Kurt insists with a smirk. "And I already signed up. I mean, you can't have a respectable show choir without the resident gay kid. It's antithetical."

Puck scrunches up his face and tosses the flyer back down on Kurt's desk. "I don't know what that word means," he says, walking over to Kurt's bed and flopping down onto it beside him, "but isn't that one of those stereotypes you've been telling me about? Gay guys don't all like show choir and lesbians aren't all softball players. That shit?"

Kurt lays down on his side so he can talk to Puck face-to-face, propping up his head with one arm. He thinks about reaching over to trace his fingers over one of Puck's hands, but Kurt isn't quite that brave yet. "No, you're right. And stereotypes can be harmful, can't they?"

"That's what all those websites say." Puck turns his head and flops one hand out into the space between their bodies. It seems like an offer, so Kurt brushes the fingers of his free hand over Puck's palm. Puck smiles. "So when does this glee thing start?"

Kurt thinks Puck is probably just making polite conversation, because that's a thing they do now, like holding hands and hugging on occasion. Kurt hasn't yet gathered the courage to kiss Puck, or ask him what these displays of affection might mean. Of course, Puck hasn't done either of those things either. Whatever this is, however, Kurt knows it's good.

"Auditions start tomorrow." Kurt studies Puck's face for a moment, and he looks calm, so Kurt says, "You should come audition, too."

Puck raises one eyebrow. "You want _me_ to join freaking _glee club_? No way. I'm going out for football."

"Even though you're...?" Kurt doesn't want to assign Puck a label he's not ready for, so he snaps his mouth shut.

"Gay?" Puck says, meeting Kurt's eyes steadily, like he's not afraid of it anymore. Warmth spreads through Kurt's chest. Pride. It lasts until Puck gently pushes at Kurt's shoulder and says, "Don't stereotype me, dude. I _like_ playing football."

"I imagine you do. But what about the locker room?" Kurt sits up, readjusting himself until he's cross legged. "What happens when they find out you're gay?"

"Nothing, if they know what's good for them." Puck runs a hand over his new "badass" haircut. Kurt hates it, but if it makes Puck feel better about being out at school, then who is Kurt to question it? The ferocity of Puck's words matches his haircut, and both scare Kurt a little, but he doesn't say anything about it. If that's the attitude Puck needs to take with him into the locker room, so be it. Puck tilts his head and smirks. "And who knows? Maybe I won't be the only gay guy in the locker room."

"You think there's someone else?" Kurt asks. He's been over the entire population of McKinley High and has yet to spot someone he thinks could be gay. Of course, there's the possibility that there are others like Puck – people good at hiding it, which Kurt is not. Eager for a little gossip, Kurt asks, "Who?"

"Well, if I can convince him to join the team, I think our kicker is gay."

Sensing something suspicious in the way Puck grins at him, Kurt asks, "What do you mean, 'If you can convince him to join the team'? If he's not already on the team, how could he be your kicker?"

"Well, the JV kicker we had last year transferred away and the Varsity one graduated, so someone's going to have to step up." Puck gives Kurt what has to be his most charming smile. "And I have it on good authority that Kurt Hummel has a pretty mean kick." Kurt tries, for the life of him, to figure out what Puck is talking about. Then he remembers the incident with Burt’s mug. “That was a _tennis ball_! A football has to be completely different, right?”

Puck shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Narrowing his eyes at Puck, Kurt says, “I’m not joining football. I _hate_ sports.”

“Then I’m not joining glee club,” Puck says and Kurt narrows his eyes at the boy even further. Kurt has a suspicion that Puck can be damn sneaky when he wants to be.

“You’re saying you’ll join glee club if I join football?”

Puck grins, like he’s glad Kurt picked up on his meaning. “Yep.”

“What if I audition and don’t get in the team?”

Puck rolls his eyes, which makes Kurt huff in annoyance again. “You _try out_ to get _on_ the team. And what if I audition and don’t get accepted into glee club?”

“Okay, one? You’re _really_ good at singing. Any glee club would be lucky to have you. And two? I don’t think there’s that many people actually interested in show choir. You could almost sound like a dying cat and still make it onto the choir.” Kurt puts his hand on his hip. “There are a lot of guys trying out for football. So if me making the team is the deciding factor over whether or not you’ll join glee club, I don’t think that’s going to end well.”

“How about,” Puck shuffles a little closer to Kurt and presses his lips to Kurt’s neck, causing a full-body shiver that makes Kurt blush. “You just agree to give it your best shot. If you try out and don’t make it, I’ll still join glee club.”

“Why would you do that?” 

Puck kisses Kurt’s lips this time. “For you.”

“Oh.” Kurt grins and resists the urge to press his fingers to his lips. “Yeah, okay.”

**Icons!**  
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